


Nudum Pactum

by Cookiebelle



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookiebelle/pseuds/Cookiebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>n. means 'Bare or Naked Promise.' In common law, it refers to a promise that is not legally enforceable for want of consideration. An example of a nudum pactum would be an offer to sell something without a corresponding offer of value in exchange. While the offer may bind a person morally, since the offer has not been created with any consideration, it is gratuitous and treated as a unilateral contract. The offer is therefore revocable at any time by the offeror before acceptance by the offeree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nudum Pactum

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to fail an anatomy exam tomorrow, and this is the reason. There have been a lot of Saul Goodman sugar daddy extraordinaire thoughts swirling around amidst my neurons and synapses lately, and since I've been feeling creatively frustrated and unbelievably unmotivated to actually do my schoolwork, I decided this was just as important. At least it was somewhat productive. 
> 
> This features my one and only Nora. I own the rights to her and all of her insanity. I do not own Saul Goodman, Breaking Bad, or any of the references made to anything nonfictional ever in the little universe I have created for myself here. 
> 
> So basically half of this is a chat between the two of them and is just an introductory chapter, but I'll write the better stuff tomorrow. I just wanted to get it out there and show you guys that yes I actually do write things, I don't just talk about writing. I'm still trying to understand how to write the character that is Saul.
> 
> Rated mature for minimal language in this chapter, and for frisky business in later chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy? I am so sorry.

How does that one song go? Eat, sleep, rave, repeat. Eat, sleep, rave, repeat… Yeah. I wish my life were so laughably simple. More like maybe eat, class, work, homework, no sleep, repeat. Add a shower here and there and the occasional day off from work and you have the life I live, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty two weeks a year, excluding some holidays… Maybe. Higher education is supposed to be the best years of your life, right? … Right? I mean, not that it isn’t fun in an entirely masochistic and self-destructive sort of way. Pushing myself to limits I wasn’t necessarily aware I could achieve, and often suffering the consequences because of it, is always an interesting experiment on my body. I understand I sound a little crazy here, but if you were a twenty three year old girl going to school for as much time as you could possibly manage while working full time to support yourself and attempt to stay out of crippling debt, you’d be taking account of all of the neat little ways your body reacts to debilitating stress and exhaustion too. That may also come from being a graduate student at the University of New Mexico studying psychophysiology, but hey, who’s counting.

I could bore you with listing off all of the riveting facts about my very exciting life, or I could just go right into the story that brings us all here and you’ll pick up the facts along the way. Story time it is, then?

So, one night, in an act of desperation after an especially frustrating night of bartending (and walking out after eight hours with less than $20 in my pocket), I joined one of those websites. You know, one of _those_ websites. And by one I mean like… Maybe ten. I just couldn’t stop myself. First it was OkCupid and Plenty of Fish, you know, the sex sites. Free and easy for any fuckwit to make a profile and send you a message to hopefully lure your poor soul into their bedroom for a few minutes. But a date? Not what anybody there is looking for, and not really what I was looking for either. Well, kind of.

It’s apparently a growing trend among female twentysomethings to embrace our female bodies and use it to turn a profit (while degrading ourselves as little as possible and upholding feminist ideologies). This trend makes us sex workers by technicality, and god does that make me happy. An entire society of young, powerful, physically and mentally autonomous women using their bodies to gain financial power and power over men? Music to my god damned ears. So in this, I thought for maybe five minutes that getting naked on camera was a good idea. Newsflash, it’s not, for plain looking girls that is. I did a show for literally five minutes, got a bunch of creeps, a handful of assholes calling me fat, and eighty-five cents to show for it. And so I moved on.

I always told myself I’d never be dependent on another person’s money. Not a man’s (or woman’s), not the bank’s, not my family’s. But I didn’t want to be dependent on it, per se. I just wanted to be able to actually see what I was making. So I took the advice of a fellow grad student, held my breath, and registered for sugardaddie.com. Every girl makes the joke “Oh, I just need a sugar daddy and all of my problems will be solved”, except no girl actually follows through with it. Well, some of us have few reservations, and even fewer influences in our lives telling us that it’s a bad idea, so onward I went. I tried making myself as appealing as possible without sounding too… Boring. Or plain. Generally those are the complaints I get the most. Or just the flat out opposite of appealing. I put that one good picture of me at the beach from last summer as my profile picture, wrote the tagline “very sexually and intellectually open minded. Gotta love a girl who can fuck you and your mind ;)” (Christ, how contrived. People actually talk like this?), and hoped that would draw some rich sucker in. And then, I waited… And waited. You sort of get high off of this stuff, you know? Suddenly you’ve opened yourself up to a world of people you’d probably never meet if you hadn’t felt so desperate on a Wednesday night in February, you’ve opened yourself up to an entire plethora of experiences. Your heart races, you either feel like the sexiest being on the planet or you feel like pond scum, but you are so enthralled in this experience it’s hard to tear yourself away from the screen, despite not one single thing happening.

 _Ding!_ Shit. _Ding! Ding!_ Fuck. “Soandso has looked at your profile”. … But clearly was not interested. Good. I wasn’t interested in you either. And another. And then a new message from some random fuck. Message not important, in this case. His profile picture was his(?) full erect cock, and while I do appreciate a nice looking penis, the principle of the whole thing was shouting that perhaps _anybody_ else would be a better match than him. I took to browsing for a little while, looking through men in my area. It confounded me how many men were so against showing their faces on these sites, and my only assumption is some boss or wife may not smile upon a man looking to spend baffling amounts of money on spoiling a girl in exchange for sex.

A few messages got sent out, nothing too consequential, just something to pass the time, get myself familiarized with “hustling myself” to these men. Unfortunately, in these situations, I am at their mercy. Sure, I can pick and choose from the ones that offer their money, but they have to offer first. Another lull, a passing of time, and I find myself jerked awake by the smell of hair singing on my thighs, burning hot. It’s been hours at this point, my computer screen black and my television running the menu loop of The Life Aquatic for the hundredth time. Great background noise, those films are. I should have moved my computer to her home on the other side of my bed and called it a night, allowing myself a restful few more hours of sleep before having to be in the door of my first class at 9 AM sharp, but just one peek couldn’t hurt, right? Probably for anybody with any semblance of self-regulation, and not me. I found three new messages in my inbox to complement the handful of profile views I had received in my slumber. Not really a surprise that these things are hopping in the late hours of the night, while wifey is asleep. Message one from a guy with a face showed someone a bit too wrinkly for my personal preference. Seemed nice, dead wife, just looking for someone to spend all his money on. But still, too old for me. I don’t think I like old people very much. Next. A suited torso: Impossibly bright shirt, muted jacket, geometric tie. Cut off from the neck and waist, he is quite literally no more than a torso and some arms to me. Username: paterfamilias (man of the family, interesting choice), Message: “Hey beautiful, can I put a name to a face?” Not a particularly bad nor good way to kick off a conversation. I respond simply: “Hi there! My name is Nora, and yours?” And onward. Another man without a face, but instead has a photo of his lovely little Spyder. Username: Daddy4u, Message: “Hey baby care to show me if ur worth what I wanna spend on u?” My response? “No”.

 _Ding!_ A new chat window begins to blink in the corner of my screen. Shit. I really need to go back to bed, but..

_Paterfamilias has messaged you!_

Okay, fine. He’s online, I might as well.

Paterfamilias: “Nora, huh? So are you Eleanor or are you really a Nora? My name’s not important right now.”

Snapdragon: “Pretty important on my end, I’d say.”

Snapdragon: “You guessed it, it’s Eleanor. But if you ever call me that, I’ll poison your coffee J”

Paterfamilias: “Point taken. Damn you’re feisty. Okay fine, my name is Saul.”

Reminds me of the bible… There’s a Saul in the bible, right?

Snapdragon: “Hi Saul”

Paterfamilias: “What brings you here so late at night?”

Snapdragon: “Is that a question worth asking? Most of the girls on here are all looking for the same thing…”

Paterfamilias: “Maybe so, but every situation is different…”

Snapdragon: “Brass tacks? I’m single and poor, in grad school. Just figured I’d find someone to buy me something nice every now and again.”

Snapdragon: “And you? Why are you up so late?”

Paterfamilias: “Well how come you don’t have a boyfriend or something?”

Snapdragon: “No time. Too busy.”

Paterfamilias: “Eh I don’t sleep much. Run pretty exclusively on caffeine and siestas. If you’re asking why I’m on here? Well… I like the attention.”

Paterfamilias: “Too busy to be a girlfriend but not too busy to be a sugar baby?”

Snapdragon: “Attention?”

Snapdragon: “Yeah, that’s exactly it. I can’t handle a commitment, but I can handle being told when and where to meet every couple of days.”

Paterfamilias: “Nothing like a bunch of girls fighting for a few minutes of your time.”

That’s one way to put it…

Snapdragon: “So you must have a bunch of babies… of the sugary variety, then. Better watch out, they’ll rot your teeth if you’re not careful.”

Paterfamilias: “Do you hear a buzzer going off anywhere? Because you’re incorrect. -100 points.”

Snapdragon: “100 whole points? Shit. How am I wrong?”

Paterfamilias: “Eh, there’s a bunch of prostitutes on here among actual real girls… You meet them once, take them to a nice dinner, buy them a pretty dress or designer shoes, they fuck you, then they’re out the door and deleting your number.”

Snapdragon: “So you’re more interested in a long term contract, then.”

Paterfamilias: “Contract. You’re speaking the language of my people!”

Snapdragon: “…?”

Paterfamilias: “I’m a lawyer… Contracts are our whole game.”

Saul the lawyer? I’ve heard of a Saul before…

Snapdragon: “What kind of lawyer?”

Paterfamilias: “Inquisitive… criminal defense lawyer…”

Snapdragon: “And I now understand why you are a ‘sugar daddy’ ;) you’re certainly not short of clients in this fine city.”

Paterfamilias: “You said you’re a student? What are you studying?”

Snapdragon: “Broadly, psychophysiology. Specifically, physiological reactions to different sorts of arousal.”

Paterfamilias: “Like sexual?”

Snapdragon: “Among other things, yes.”

Paterfamilias: “Have we gotten to know each other well enough yet?”

Snapdragon: “I still haven’t seen your face.”

Paterfamilias: “Would you like to?”

Snapdragon: “Sort of, yes…”

Paterfamilias: “When are you free tomorrow?”

Snapdragon: “I guess… Around lunch time and after 8pm.”

Paterfamilias: “How about getting dinner with me? No strings attached, no sex. Just dinner.”

Oh god… Oh _god_. He actually wanted to meet me. My heart started to race, though it did not wake my tired, drooping eyes. I really needed to go to sleep…

Snapdragon: “Okay, fine. Dinner. IF I get to see your face first. For all I know you could be like Quasimodo or something..”

Snapdragon: “Leave me your # too. I’ll text you… I really need to go to sleep though..”

_Paterfamilias has sent you an image!_

Paterfamilias: “I’m so gonna regret this”

I barely glanced. He looked handsome enough, well dressed, not too deformed. He looked… Vaguely familiar to my mostly asleep consciousness. Like someone I had seen around town, but it never struck me until later. I never really got a great look, didn’t get to examine him, but I blushed nonetheless. Men his age who are successful and want a youngin’ like me? Kind of a girl’s dream…

Snapdragon: “You’re cute :* I like you. Dinner. Leave me your number. I’ll call you, promise. Goodnight Saul.”

Paterfamilias: “Sweet dreams, Eleanor… ;)”

I was too tired to write him a little scowl, and instead closed my laptop and rolled over, restarting the film on the TV and falling asleep with giddy thoughts of once again being wanted by members of the male population. Even if it was some cute lawyer named Saul who only cared about paying me to fuck him. It still left me with butterflies as I unceremoniously passed out five minutes later to Bill Murray’s sweet baritone.

* * *

That very moment, Saul smiled his small half smirk at his computer, closing out the conversation with Nora, and one with another girl who dove right into sex talk and didn’t even care to ask his name. Whores. He too moved himself to his empty queen bed, laid on one side (the side he has had for twenty five years at this point), and stared at the ceiling. She was cute, sure, but probably like the others. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up, but there they were, that finally this was going to work out, maybe. He didn’t know when he drifted to sleep, but he did. It was dreamless and dark, but he felt different in his subconsciousness, at ease. 

**Author's Note:**

> The one thing I will say about my interpretation of Saul Goodman is that it's somewhat different from Bob Odenkirk's interpretation of him. While he alludes that Saul is more or less phobic of any semblance of a relationship, I don't necessarily see that from him. I think companionship suits him on his own terms, and those terms are most easily fulfilled via the SD/sb relationship, and any evolvement from there is-- well, we'll get there when we get there.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Please leave comments and stuff. I like those.


End file.
